


Pain Makes You Human

by TruebornAlpha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Nogitsune dub con, M/M, Nogitsune, Pain, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Sciles, Scott Feels, Scott and Stiles relationship, Scott-Centric, Self Harm, Someone look out for Scott please, dark skittles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has always been willing to sacrifice himself and take people's pain, but this tendency to self-harm has gotten so much worse after the Nogitsune and Allison's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Pain makes you human._

It was one of the first things he’d learned about being a werewolf and one of the first things he’d rebelled against. Derek might have found an anchor in the pain, but Scott had found one in love. He tied himself to that shimmering, breathless rush that was Allison’s heartbeat, the sound of her laugh and the scent of her skin until it was gone and there was nothing left but the beast that threatened to split his skin along the seams.

It was worse now than it had ever been before, the powers of an alpha thrummed in his veins, so much harder to restrain than when he had just been a beta. Everything was just more, his strength, his senses, the way the full moon pulled at his core and sent his emotions spiraling into chaos. His mother had told him to be his own anchor and he had fought for control, taming the beast through sheer willpower and pain, digging his claws into the palms of his hands until blood dripped down his arms and splattered his shoes. He couldn’t keep doing it, there was only so many times his mom could find blood smeared jeans stuffed in the laundry and ruined t-shirts hidden in the back of his closet before she started to worry and Scott wouldn’t do that to her. His mother had enough on her mind without knowing what kind of monster her son carried inside of himself.

Allison was dead.

His thoughts tended to skitter away from that thought, an open wound still raw and aching. His strength had always been his unshakeable faith in things, that optimism that things would get better. He faced down the impossible because he believed he could, like he could force the universe to shape itself around will if he just tried hard enough. Scott had always believed that someday, he would reconcile with his first love. However long it took, they were meant to be together, she wasn’t supposed to die in his arms. It had left him numb and in shock, it was the only way to keep moving forward. There wasn’t time to grieve, not yet. Stiles was still so fragile, Lydia had broken apart, Isaac could barely function and was planning his escape from Beacon Hills. His pack was had shattered without her and he needed to be strong enough to get them through this before he could let himself fall apart.

Scott sat in one of the uncomfortably hard plastic chairs in the ER waiting room, Tupperware containers full of mac and cheese wrapped tightly in a plastic bag beside him. Learning how to cook for himself had been a matter of survival when his mom was working the night shift and there had been no one but himself at home. He wasn’t a chef by any means, but mac and cheese was easy enough to make without burning the house down and he always made sure to bring some dinner to his mom if he had the chance. She was too busy to talk to him yet, Scott kept catching glimpses of her in the hallways, giving orders to the other nurses and reassuring scared patients with that calm kind of authority that he always tried to emulate. He loved watching his mother work, she was amazing and he was so proud to be able to share her with all of the sick and wounded who needed her help.

Pain surrounded him, he could practically taste it in the air heavy with the scent of fear and suffering. The chaos of the ER wasn’t supposed to be a place to find a quiet center, too many people waiting, sick and hurt, to be called back to see the doctors. Ambulances wailed just outside the doors as patients on gurneys where wheeled into the hospital and the panic of loved ones waiting to hear news hung overhead. Scott wasn’t sure when he started spending so much time here. It wasn’t just the quick visits with his mother who was so busy to while she was working, too many of his friends had ended up in this building since that night he was first turned. It had been a domino effect with Scott at the center, accidents and tragedy radiating around him to engulf anyone who got too close. Lydia, Danny, Stiles, Isaac, he had waited in these chairs in silent worry as his friends suffered because of this curse while he was powerless to help.

Maybe it had started after the Nogitsune, he couldn’t even remember exactly anymore. He had taken so much pain all at once only to have it ripped from him in a rush of guilt-ridden bliss and numbness. It was supposed to hurt, he was _supposed_ to bear the pain for others, the fact that the dark spirit wearing his best friend’s face had made it all feel so good to give up and feel nothing terrified him. The fox had leaned in close, asking Scott if he was okay like it had truly been Stiles. It had twisted the oni’s sword in his gut, slicing through organs and grinding against bone before ripping the agony from him and leaving him gasping for more. If Deaton hadn’t stopped it, Scott didn’t know what could have happened or what he might have agreed to just to feel that rush again.

All that hurt that he should be feeling had been stolen, leaving him empty and hollow. The physical ache of the wound in his stomach the only pain left for him to feel, and god, he had deserved to hurt after that night. He had looked right into his best friend’s eyes and never saw that it wasn’t Stiles looking back at him. Scott couldn’t save any of them…he had to save them all. It had taken hours before the numbness of it all had worn off, leaving Scott disgusted at how much he’d enjoyed the feeling and how he craved to have it all lifted from him again. That violating euphoria that had left him empty and desperate and sick inside. Pain made you human, and the Nogitsune had stolen it from him that night. The worst part of it was how much he’d liked not feeling human anymore.

The boy rubbed his hands together with a sigh, watching the others in the waiting room and picking out the ones who suffered the most. It was easy, he could pick up the scent from the ones wrapped in pain and fear no matter how much he tried not to focus on his sense of smell. Some things were just too strong to block out. He didn’t mean to know, but if he could do something…

Scott stood, making his way across the room towards the young man with bloody towels wrapped around his hands, skin pale and covered with a sheen of sweat that glistened under the harsh hospital lights. He could see the pulse jumping rapidly in the man’s neck, breathing shallow and strained as he waited with agonized patience to be called back. Sliding quietly into the seat beside him, Scott brushed his arm against the man’s elbow as if it was an accidental touch. Black veins spider-webbed across the alpha’s skin as Scott took as much as he could, the man beside him sighing in confused relief as his muscles untensed and the sharpest edges of his agony dulled.

Scott squeezed his eyes closed and took a shuddering breath as the pain settled deep into the joints of his bones, throbbing with more than a physical ache. Every time he did this, it felt like he opened up his soul and let someone in, exposed and vulnerable with sharp edged wounds left behind. The first time Deaton had showed him how, the feeling had been so profoundly intimate, it had made him cry. Everyone had walls up inside to protect themselves, but the only way to take someone’s pain was to strip all your protections down and invite the ache inside. You had to be laid completely bare.

Normally he was able to handle the feeling, practice had given him some measure of control. The pain never lasted forever and the intimate touch of souls left only lingering scars to remember them by. Each one had left their mark in him, he could still feel them all long after the hurting stopped. All except the death of the deputy in the sheriff’s station after the Nogitsune’s bomb had left a ragged hole inside, as if part of Scott had died along with him. What happened to him didn’t matter anyways, if he had the ability to help someone else, then he had the responsibility to do everything he could. He was helping, that was all he ever wanted and the only thing that was important. That was his role, he was the alpha and this town was his to protect.

The pain settled him more than Scott liked to admit, making him feel solid and real, the bands of darkness around his heart easing for a moment to let him breathe again. It made everything sharper, like he was in control and anchored securely. As long as he hurt, he was still human. He had to hurt for them, for Allison and Aiden, for Erica and Boyd. Scott had failed them all and they died because of it. Stiles was the one who needed him now, healing and hating himself, so ready to have stabbed himself through to end it. Scott couldn’t lose him too, he had to be strong enough to keep his best friend together and he _needed_ the pain to stay human.

Standing again, he took the bag with trembling hands and passed it off to his mother with a quick hug and murmured endearments, promising to be back again tomorrow.


	2. Filling the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott has always been willing to sacrifice himself and take people's pain, but this tendency to self-harm has gotten so much worse after the Nogitsune and Allison's death.
> 
> After Allison's funeral, Scott needs to find a way to grieve and keep himself human.

_That’s because it doesn’t hurt._

Scott’s eyes flew open, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom and jarred out of sleep by a voice that never seemed to stop whispering in the back of his head. He didn’t move, sheets twisted uncomfortably around his legs and breath loud in the darkness of his room. The house was quiet, too quiet to sleep. His mom was on a night rotation at the hospital and the comforting beat of Isaac’s heart was gone from the room next door. For all their problems, the boy had become a member of the family, a constant presence that kept the house from being so empty. He’d left with Chris Argent, escaping the town that had claimed so much from them all and a part of Scott wished he could give up the responsibility as Beacon Hills’s protector and just go with him. Instead, he was left with a too quiet house, a town full of monsters, and whispering memories that never gave him peace.

Flailing with tired gracelessness, Scott sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pressed one thumb into the palm of his hand, rubbing hard to try and stop the fine trembling that just seemed to be getting worse these days. Stiles had called him out on it a few days ago and Scott had quickly side-stepped the question, offering reassurances that he knew his friend didn’t believe.

Her funeral had been on a beautiful day, clear and bright and wrong in every way. It should have been raining, wasn’t it always supposed to be raining when someone important died? It would have been more fitting that way. Lydia had clung to Stiles, sobbing until she couldn’t breathe while his guilt was evidenced in his face. Isaac struggled to stay on his feet, once again having his solid ground fall away beneath him and held upright only by Chris Argent’s hand on his shoulder.  Argent didn’t cry. He called it compartmentalization so he could keep moving, keep living no matter how great the pain. Scott didn’t cry either.

Aiden didn’t get a funeral. Lydia had broken as Derek told her that the former alpha had been so desperate for redemption as they buried him quietly on Hale land. Ethan was inconsolable, but Scott helped Derek dig the grave and watched his family shatter and disappear around him, cold and silent.

He felt like he was underwater most days, his senses muted and feeling detached. He vaguely recognized that numbness and shock were the early stages of grief, his mind unable to accept the loss. It was a way to protect himself from breaking, but it never seemed to stop. It was so easy to just stay numb and safe and keep putting one foot in front of the other. So easy to stop being human.

With a sigh, he slid from the bed, bare feet padding across the floor as he groped in the dark for his jeans and a hoodie. It was too damn quiet, too empty to sleep and he needed to get out of here. His mom wouldn’t know, he’d be back long before she got home.  Scott reached automatically for his phone, the light blinding for a moment as he flicked on the screen and his fingers hovered, hesitating over the letters. It was late and Stiles wasn’t sleeping well, he could see the exhaustion etched into his friend every day. The Nogitsune was gone, but the shadows under his eyes were as dark as ever. Stiles never said a word about the nightmares, but Scott knew in that way they always knew. Words weren’t necessary for them, they’d been together long enough to read the subtle cues and react by instinct.

Scott had been staying over several times a week, sleeping crammed together in Stiles’s bed that seemed so much bigger when they were kids. Things had changed between them, he could feel it but he didn’t understand quite how yet. All he knew was that Stiles could sleep better when they were sprawled together in a tangled mass of limbs and beating hearts and Scott could feel like the world wasn’t caving in on them all. Even with the change, there was something rock solid about Stiles breathing easy as he chased away the nightmares that made Scott feel grounded. Like the crooked smile he wore and his eternal optimism wasn’t just a veneer put on for the benefit of everyone else. That there really was still hope. With a sigh, he slipped the phone into the pocket of his hoodie and grabbed his bike helmet. Scott’s main concern was making sure Stiles could sleep, he was supposed to be the anchor and calling about his own problems would just make his friend worry, which was the last thing Stiles needed as he healed the Nogitsune’s scars. Scott could deal with this himself, he was the alpha. It was his responsibility.

The roar of the motorbike was loud in the early morning darkness as he tore through the streets, reckless and urging the bike faster. There was hardly anyone on the roads, he could race as fast as he wanted to chase the thrill of adrenaline but even the speed couldn’t make him feel anything. The hospital was quiet tonight, the ambulances parked with their lights off and the ER almost deserted. It seemed like the whole town had decided to take the night off and he knew he should be glad. It was only a matter of time before the next thing snaked itself out of the darkness and started hunting. Scott parked out front, skirting the emergency room where he knew his mother was working and wandered up to the higher floors. There was no destination in mind, he just let instinct drive him and followed the scent of pain. In a place like this, it was almost overwhelming, agony scrubbed over with bleach.

The teen paused outside of a partially open door, glancing down the hall to make sure none of the nurses were watching before he slipped inside. The soft beep of the heart monitor and whir-gasp of machines were the only sounds, the woman in the bed heavily sedated. Her skin was charred, wrapped with loose white gauze that didn’t stop the burns from weeping and Scott could practically feel the searing pain from her nerves, even though she was unconscious. He could help with this, it was what he was supposed to be doing. It was the only good clear thing he knew anymore.

Pressing feather-light fingertips against her skin, the black veins raced up his arms and Scott squeezed his eyes shut as it felt like his skin blistered and burst from the heat he drew from her flesh. It hit hard, stealing his ability to breathe as he stumbled backwards, back hitting the wall and sliding down to the floor as his entire body shook. He gave a gasping sob, fisting his hands in his hair as he rode out the anguish settling into his bones. It finally hurt enough to cry for them, to cry for Allison. The pain gave him the release he needed to grieve and beneath it all, the overwhelming relief that he was still human enough to cry.


	3. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles go to visit Allison's grave and Scott's addition to pain becomes clear.

“Scott. Scott. Scotty!”

The boy looked up into concerned honey brown eyes inches from his own. He gave a surprised laugh, putting a hand on Stiles’s face and pushing him away. “Dude, what? Are you trying to Klington mind meld with me or something?”

Stiles put a hand to his chest, stricken and feigning a heart attack. “ _Vulcan_ mind meld, don’t tell me you haven’t seen Star Trek either? Sometimes I have no idea how we’re even friends.”

“I saw that one with that Chris Pines guy you dragged me to, does that count?” Scott shrugged one shoulder at his friend.

The human huffed, doing his best to bury his indignance. “Where are you, you’ve been like a billion miles away lately, dude. I feel like I’ve been talking to myself, which is kind of an uncomfortable feeling after the whole losing my mind thing.”

Scott’s eyes snapped upwards with a frown, reaching out a hand to rest on Stiles’s arm. “You’re not crazy.” He hated the way his friend brushed everything off with a joke to hide the brittle scarring underneath and the reassurances came automatically. Stiles swatted the hand away in annoyance.

“Stop, I’m talking about you, dude. What’s up? Don’t tell me everything’s okay, Scott.”

The werewolf rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed, shifting away. “Just a lot on my mind.” It was hard talking about this with Stiles, with anyone really but especially him. He should have been able to tell his best friend anything, that was the way they’d always been. Most of the time they didn’t even need words, just a quiet presence or a look and the other would just _know_ in ways that always drove their parents crazy when they were kids. Things were different now, Scott carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and Stiles was healing slowly, soul carved up by the Nogitsune’s claws. As bad as it was for him, it must be so much worse for Stiles. The memories, the nightmares of what he’d done…there was no way Scott would put more on his back. This was his problem, he could hold it together. Someone needed to be strong enough to stand when everyone else was drowning, he didn’t have the luxury of breaking down. “I just miss her.” It was an answer close enough to the truth to satisfy.

Stiles watched his friend closely, not entirely convinced but pulling back. “I know, I miss her too. Do you…do you want to go visit?”

The question caught him by surprise and Scott furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral, too afraid to face the stone with her name carved into it. It was too permanent, it didn’t tell anyone about her smile or the way she faced things with such brave humanity even when she was outnumbered. It didn’t say anything about how she could light up a room just by walking into it or how she was the one who had brought the pack together when she moved to Beacon Hills. It couldn’t say anything about how she turned centuries of tradition on its head for love, swearing to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and leading her family with wisdom and compassion.

How could you show that the world would never be okay without her in it?

He ran his tongue across his bottom lip nervously. He wasn’t sure he was ready, too afraid to face her. What if he got there and felt _nothing_?

“Scott?”

“Yeah, no…I-I guess. Are you sure? Do you want to go?”

“If you want to. It’s up to you, man.”

Scott chewed his lip ragged before nodding slowly. There was so much he wanted to say to her that he never had a chance to put into words. It just built inside of him, a million innocent thoughts every day when he saw something she’d love or heard a story that would make her laugh. He would immediately reach for his phone to text her only to freeze as soon as his fingers brushed his pocket. “If you’re sure.”

The car ride to the cemetery was quiet, Stiles unnervingly too silent the entire way. He was hurting too, Scott could read the guilt and the pain in the way he held himself, blaming himself for her death. No matter how many times Scott had told him that he hadn’t been the Nogitsune, that it wasn’t him, wasn’t his fault, it didn’t seem to help. It didn’t matter, Scott would remind him over and over forever if he had to until the words finally took root.

Roscoe squeaked as they parked, tumbling from the jeep and hesitating at the edge of the perfectly manicured grass of the cemetery grounds.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Scott.”

“I need to see her. You’re right, it’s time. I’ve been putting it off too long, I owe her a visit.” He clasped his friend’s shoulder, trying to smile. “You coming with me?”

Stiles gave him an answering wan smile. “Always.”

He crossed the field, grass still damp from the timed sprinkler system and water soaking into the bottoms of his jeans. He could feel Stiles beside him, warm and solid though he couldn’t turn away long enough to look, attention focused on that cold gray stone with her name carved deep into its surface. Argent. One of many standing together in the corner of the grounds. Too many.

Scott felt like he was back in the sheriff’s station, shocked numb and blank. _It happened so fast_. There wasn’t time enough, it wasn’t fair. There were so many promises he still had to keep and she was gone. This wasn’t her, being here didn’t make him feel any closer to her. It was just cold stone and wet grass and nothing…nothing…

Drops of thick glistening red collected around his knuckles before falling with a quiet _plip_ to stain the brown suede of his shoes. He barely heard the sound of his name, voices coming from far away like he was underwater, distorted and echoing. It wasn’t until hands closed hard around his arms and shook him until his head snapped back that he was suddenly aware.

“God damn it, Scott, STOP!!”

“Stiles?” He blinked in confusion, reaching out for his friend before he realized his hands were shredded bloody ruins, clawed deep enough to sever tendons. The pain hadn’t even registered, too desensitized to feel the claws stabbing into the palms and too numb to notice the wounds. He hadn’t even meant to hurt himself, the attempt almost automatic when he knew he should feel something and there was nothing inside but emptiness. “I-I...I don’t…it doesn’t hurt.” His voice was too calm, he knew it was wrong. There should be some panic, some pain, _something_ there. “I’m okay.”

“Like hell you’re okay!” Stiles snapped, grabbing Scott by the wrists and forcing his hands open. “Stop doing this, stop hurting yourself. Please, Scotty!” His voice broke over the plea and Scott took a shuddering breath, something breaking inside of him as well. Bloody hands clutched at Stiles’s shirt leaving smears of red as the human locked his arms tightly around the body of his friend.

“Stiles, I can’t stop.” Scott’s knees buckled and they tumbled together in the grass, Stiles refusing to let go even for a moment. The werewolf mumbled barely intelligible apologies, more worried that he’d upset his friend than his own injuries. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I can’t stop, I can’t hold on.”

Stiles pulled Scott’s trembling body hard against his own, ignoring the blood and rocking back and forth by Allison’s grave. “Hold on to me for now. You’ve got me, just hold on to me.”


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott starts the path of recovery, dealing with his addition to pain and finding a better way to hold on to his humanity.

It had been fifteen days, six hours, twenty seven minutes and fifteen seconds since the last time Scott McCall had pulled someone else’s pain into his body. Sixteen…seventeen…eighteen… Stiles made him keep track of the time like it was an accomplishment, celebrating every tiny milestone and helping every time he slipped. His friend treated each day like Scott had won something and whenever he screwed up, he was there with gentle admonishment and words of encouragement until the werewolf couldn’t help but believe him. He always trusted Stiles, even when he couldn’t trust himself.

Pain made you human, what was he now that he didn’t feel anything at all?

Scott’s hands shook and he squeezed them into fists, but kept the claws from breaking through. He felt like he was an addict, the need to feel something almost a physical ache. He was numb, moving and breathing and speaking like nothing was wrong but so distant from the world that he felt utterly disconnected. Allison was gone. Aiden was gone. Isaac had left town with Chris. The world should have stopped, but the sun stubbornly rose and life kept moving forward, pulling Scott along unwillingly. Everything around him was a blur of color and sound, muted and unimportant.

Everything except Stiles.

His best friend would clamber through his window at night uninvited, not like he ever needed permission to invade Scott’s space. What belonged to one belonged to the other, and that included heartbreak. The world would become clear beneath those hands, his skin slightly cooler against Scott’s werewolf heat. He would be able to focus on the space between them, muscles tensed tight enough to snap that eased just enough to sleep and grief could finally filter through the void. He could break because he knew that Stiles wouldn’t be afraid to cut himself on the jagged pieces as his friend helped to rebuild him.

It hadn’t taken long for the relief of Stiles’s hands and the comforting weight of his body to turn into more, wet lips dragged over skin and little breathless gasps as his body responded even though his heart couldn’t. The transition was so easy, Scott hadn’t noticed until he stopped in the bathroom one morning to admire the quickly fading bruises sucked into the skin of his neck, running curious fingers over the painless marks. Something in his chest did _something_. It hurt and it didn’t hurt and that night his lips had met Stiles’s with mirrored desperation. 

Fifteen days, six hours, thirty one minutes and twenty three seconds. Twenty four…Twenty Five…

Stiles had made him a mix tape of the worst 1980s hair metal ballads he could find “to show you how I feel, Scotty” and Scott had finally laughed. Their fingers would entwine across his kitchen table as they reviewed history notes and the words seemed to finally make sense on the page. At night when the house was too quiet with his mother at work and Isaac gone forever, the racing heartbeat of his best friend as he pressed his mouth against the hollow of Scott’s throat set a rhythm like music. And as he came, wrecked and shuddering with Stiles working him slowly, it was like two pieces of one whole finally put together again.

Derek had always taught him that pain was the thing that anchored you back to your humanity, the thing that kept you vulnerable and safe from becoming a real monster. As long as you could be hurt, you still had a heart, but Scott had always tried to find another way. He had anchored himself in love and in willpower until he lost both and the pain was the only way to reconnect to what had been taken from him, but it was killing him. He could justify it all he wanted under the guise of helping people and maybe he did some good with it, but Stiles would remind him that being a hero didn’t always mean selling off pieces of himself. If the hero sacrificed everything, who would be left to protect them all? Sometimes you had to save yourself before you could save anyone else. Maybe sometimes you had to let yourself be saved.

It didn’t stop the need, it was always there in the back of his head and in the jangling of his nerves. The little twitch to his fingers when Stiles stubbed his toe on the edge of the couch or when Lydia sprained her wrist or when Danny pulled his hamstring in lacrosse. He could have taken their pain, reaching out to let the ache settle into his bones, but he’d managed to control himself for fifteen days six hours, thirty four minutes and eight seconds…nine…. Maybe the feeling would always be there, but Stiles would always be there too, ready to chase it away. If there was one thing in his life he was completely certain of, it was that he was stuck with one Mr. Stiles Stilinski for the rest of eternity. At least that’s what it said when he would wake up sometimes with promises scrawled across the dark skin of his chest and left in a thousand brightly colored post-it notes around his room (right next to the little smiling dick doodles).

Scott stared up at his ceiling and counted out the seconds. It didn’t seem like much, but each one was a victory. The human shaped burrito curled beside him smacked him sharply across the stomach and the wolf oomfed, giving Stiles a shove.

“You’re doing the thing.”

“The thing?”

“Yeah.” Stiles said sleepily, mouth drawn into a petulant pout. “That thing where you’re worrying instead of being my blanket. Bros don’t let bros freeze to death in bed, Scotty. Now, unless you want me to actually wear something to bed from now on…”

“God forbid.” Scott chuckled, wrapping his body around the boy who greedily tangled himself in knots around him.

“Stop doing the thing and go to sleep.”

They were both so far from okay, Stiles was still haunted by the Nogitsune and the dreams where he lost himself and Scott could feel the need for the simple rush of pain to help calm him whenever things got too stressful, but they were healing. It would take time and they’d slip, but they’d get there together. There were each too stubborn to give up on the other.

“Scott.”

“Shut up, dumbass. I’m sleeping.” Scott kissed Stiles into silence and let himself drift, secure and loved. Pain might work, but his humanity was right here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little un-beta'd drabble inspired by [Waning Croissant's](http://waning-croissant.tumblr.com/post/80745928920/fic-recs) headcanon about Scott's disturbing habit of taking everyone's pain and Teen Wolf's canon "pain makes you human" trope.
> 
>  
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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